


Ginger or Red-Headed

by Loveismyrevolution



Series: Hairy Situations at 221B [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Humor, Important Hairy Research, M/M, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, They Are Quarantined, also called: the mystery of ginger hair..., smut and humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24020125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution
Summary: Sherlock is bothered by the colour of his newly grown beard as it doesn't quite match the colour of the rest of his hair (and then he means all different types of hair!!) He knows for a fact that someone else is ginger on one specific part of his body and feels the need to investigate this further. Somehow John doesn't mind this particular research in the slightest.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Hairy Situations at 221B [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691965
Comments: 19
Kudos: 76
Collections: Isolated Johnlock Collection





	Ginger or Red-Headed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Idontmind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idontmind/gifts).



> This fic was prompted by my friend Idontmind who complained about the lack of pubic hair in this series! This is -of course- inacceptable for a series dedicated to hair (well, particularly the hair of two certain Baker Street-Idiots). It needed to be fixed. So, here we are! This fic earns the series the E-rating so you can imagine that John, for once, is very happy with Sherlock's research methods...
> 
> * * *
> 
> This fic is part of a series but can be read as a standalone.

One lazy morning, as most quarantine mornings were, John enjoyed a lie in, wavering in and out of sleep. He had heard Sherlock getting up some time ago and indulged in having the whole bed to himself. He spread arms and legs out like a starfish, draped diagonally over the mattress, and fell asleep again. His dreams were incoherent and mostly ridiculous. He woke often but dozed off again just as much, each time reveling in the opportunity to do so.

He scratched his leg as something was itching and tickling and wanted to turn over on his belly. He was hindered from doing as much when his knee bumped against something solid and a muffled "umpf" emerged from under his blanket. 

He was awake in an instant and scrambled to sit up a bit, leaning on his forearms, blinking his still sleepy eyes at the blanket covered lump at the foot end. The not-moving blanket-covered lump. The very much Consulting-Detective-shaped blanket-covered lump. John giggled.

“Sherlock, what are you doing there?” he asked amused. When the Detective-lump didn’t answer nor move, he poked him with his toes. “Sherlock, you know that I can see you, right?” He laughed rightout now, loving the ridiculousness of his partner. “Or do you still believe like a three year old that I can’t see you, if you don’t see me?” 

“Oh, but I do see you,” a deep sultry growl broke the silence of the lump. 

John’s laugh died on his lips and was replaced by a surprised yelp, when he was suddenly attacked and his pants got yanked down. He had no time to recover, when without respite his unsuspecting still flaccid cock was engulfed in wet heat. It got over its shock pretty quickly and was hard in record time. John got dizzy from the speed his blood rushed downwards. Perhaps also from the intensity of the sudden pleasure. Not that he wanted to complain. Anything but! He tried to come to terms with this unexpected change of events and to relax into the situation. 

When Sherlock lifted his head a bit to adjust to the now not insignificantly larger member in his mouth and swirled his tongue around the glans, there was nothing to it and John squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. Sherlock didn’t falter in his ministrations and added a bit of suction when he lowered his head again. One of his big hands got hold of the base of John’s cock to steady it and to cover the bit of the shaft Sherlock didn’t quite manage to suck without gagging. 

Sherlock was apparently on a mission as he didn’t lose any time. He bobbed his head up and down, his hand stroking John’s erection in time with his movements. His tongue did magical things to John’s quickly over-sensitive cock; tightening on the upwards stroke and rubbing its rough structure over the underside of the shaft, spending extra attention to tease the frenulum; poking slightly into the slit before swirling around the throbbing and swollen head, dipping under the foreskin and suckling on it before sliding it delicately down again. 

John groaned helplessly and clenched and twisted the covers in his fists as he couldn’t reach for Sherlock under the covers. He had lost all ability to think, wave after wave of heat flooding his body. He was unable to adjust to the mounting pleasure, his heart racing, he had difficulties to coordinate his breathing with the moans that escaped his throat faster and faster, louder and louder.

It didn’t help in the slightest that Sherlock’s newly grown beard ruthlessly rubbed along John’s inner thighs. His bristly facial hair got caught in John’s softer ones on his legs, tugged slightly and scratched over the sensitive flesh underneath. The tingle and prickle of John’s pubic hair when Sherlock swallowed John’s cock down to the halt from time to time almost drove him crazy. The bastard even curled his lips inwards sometimes, to make the short scratchy hair around his lips rub over the silky skin of John's shaft. When they accidently grazed his glans he cried out and his hips bucked involuntarily upwards into Sherlock’s mouth. 

Sherlock groaned around John’s cock in his mouth and the vibrations went right up John’s spine. From deep within his belly a buzzing tightness rose and welled up in pulses through his whole body. He couldn’t help but keep fucking Sherlock’s mouth, which only seemed to spur Sherlock on. He met his thrusts enthusiastically and gripped John’s erection tighter and sucked harder. His other hand travelled up John’s belly and reached for one of his nipples. Without restraint he pinched it and swirled it between thumb and finger. A sharp jolt of pleasure added to the hum soaring through his veins. Sherlock repeated it only a couple of times, almost violently increasing the force of the tweak. It set John’s nerves on fire and his synapses firing lightning throughout his entire nervous system. He was almost hyperventilating when Sherlock abandoned his tortured nipple and his hand wandered down again, scratching his nails over the skin on John’s middle making it twitch. The twitching intensified, seeped through his skin into his belly muscles when Sherlock suddenly grabbed John’s balls and rolled them in his palms. He squeezed and teased and tucked slightly, now and then pressing and brushing against John’s perineum with his thumb.

Through the daze of his approaching orgasm, John felt the mattress between his legs rock rhythmically and the image of Sherlock being so turned on by giving John pleasure, grinding against the mattress, made his head swirl even more. He gave over to the unstoppable waves building and billowing. Without warning Sherlock’s hand on his balls was gone and a sharp sting he couldn’t locate spiked his arousal and made the wave of his orgasm crush over him, drowned him in blissful nothingness. The white noise of his drunkenness in pleasure was only woven through by new sparks of heat, when he felt Sherlock’s throat tighten around him when he swallowed down his come. Sherlock kept sucking him until the last aftershocks of his orgasm ebbed away, only let go when the last drop of semen was spent. 

John lay on his back, panting, trying to process what had just overcome him. He threw one arm over his eyes to make the sparkling dots he saw vanish. He felt lightheaded and tried to get his breathing under control again. When the thrumming in his ears receded a bit he got aware that Sherlock wasn’t in any better state. He lay underneath the covers, sagged, breathing hard. John could now feel Sherlock’s arm rhytmically bumping his leg, moving slowly up and down and he realised that Sherlock was stroking himself, already spent, coming down from his own orgasm. John also felt the stickiness covering his calve and didn’t dare to move to not smear it all over the covers. 

When he had regained some breath he giggled, making his body shake slightly, the thigh Sherlock’s head was resting on, too. That earned him a displeased growl, which made him laugh even more.

“Well, good morning to you too!” he croaked, his throat dry from the intense breathing and the probably more than wanted noise he had made. He was still not back to normal breathing.

“Morning,” came the mumbled answer, still muffled by covers.

“Care to join me up here?” John chuckled, patting the Sherlock-lump softly where he could reach without moving too much. An undefined growling sound was the only answer and John kept stroking over what was probably Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Okay, you loony,” John said, affectionately. “Do as you please.” Which was punished by a soft nip in his thigh. “Ouch!” John complained, but laughed. 

They stayed there for a while until John became a bit uncomfortable with the weight on his leg rendering him immobile. He wiggled a bit, but Sherlock apparently didn’t want to move.

“Hey love, I think I might need a shower. Let me get up?” He lifted the covers slightly to peek underneath and was met by the gaze of a ruffled but sheepishly looking Sherlock. John smirked. “Hey you, what was that, ey? Not that I object…,” he winked at Sherlock,who blushed slightly, “But what brought that on…?” 

When he reached under the covers to pull Sherlock up towards him, the Detective suddenly scrambled hurriedly backwards, emerging from under the covers at the foot end and immediately rummaging for his dressing gown. He threw it over and breezed out of the bedroom door. John looked confused at the retreating back of his lover, who called from the hallway, “You take your shower John, I’ll make coffee. Take your time!” 

A bit suspicious, but still too blissed out to be bothered, John retreated into the bathroom and relished the feeling of perfectly sated body and mind, engulfed in the warmth of a leisurely shower.

When he emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in his bathrobe, he indeed found the coffee already brewed and even two slices of bread ready in the roaster. He raised one eyebrow in disbelief and turned to look at Sherlock.

The man was already absorbed in his experiments again, peeking into his microscope, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Something urgent then that made you flee the bed?” John interrogated, teasingly. He went over to Sherlock’s chair, stood behind him and ran his fingers through the messy curls. An indecipherable mumble didn’t clear things up, but John didn’t need the information anyway. He knew his genius, this wasn’t a rare occurrence. Sherlock’s experiments needed attention at the most inopportune moments.  _ ‘At least he had enough time to finish his job… well, blowjob’ _ , John thought and smirked. He leaned down to place a kiss on Sherlock’s cheek, when he caught sight of the object slides neatly ordered next to the microscope. Complete with spreadsheet, split in columns named ‘brown’, ‘blond’, ‘grey’, ‘ginger’, and rows called ‘head’, ‘beard’, ‘legs’, ‘pubic’. 

“Sherlock! What the heck?” John shrieked. “Tell me, you don’t study my pubic hair!!”

“But I do.” Sherlock said, indifferently, without moving. 

“Did you… did you just blow me to oblivion to get a pubic hair sample?” John’s voice almost tumbled over in disbelief.

“Well, I got a bit distracted from my initial intention.” Sherlock said and cleared his throat. Finally he straightened his back and looked up at John, misschief sparkling in his eyes. “I wasn't under the impression that you disliked it though…”

“I didn’t. I don’t.” John huffed. “If you’re inclined you  _ are  _ allowed to repeat this specific experiment to get your sample after all.” He grinned at Sherlock, who grinned back. Then looked back at his microscope.

“There’ll be no need for that though. I already got my sample.” he said, calmly. 

“You mean, you gave me a blow job and afterwards you thought, well, let’s get my sample?” John laughed. “You bastard!! Well, pity then…”

“Uhm… yeah, something like that.” Sherlock tilted his head, contemplating. He looked at John from under his lashes when he said; “But there did  _ arise  _ a different topic of interest I might need to explore a bit further.” 

“And that is…?” John raised his eyebrows.

“Well, I didn’t take the sample  _ after  _ sucking you, but rather… you know… while doing so. And surprisingly it didn’t bother you in the slightest. I would go so far to say…,” He smirked lewdly, “... you didn’t mind one bit that it hurt a bit. It seemed to be the… let’s say… final spark!” 

John looked disbelievingly at him, blushing fiercely.

“I think that warrants some further exploration.” Sherlock added, suggestively.

John swallowed, choked and coughed and went over to take a sip of coffee, almost burning his tongue. He heard Sherlock chuckle behind his back. He turned and looked at him.

“What is this research about anyway?” He tried to find a way out of the situation. Walking over again, holding steadily on to his cup of coffee. A hand on Sherlock's shoulder, he waited for the inevitable explanation.

“I wondered how it is possible that head-, body- and pubic hair can be that different in structure and most of all of colour. I realised that  _ my _ pubic and head hair are of the same colour whereas my beard unfortunately is, well, ginger. According to those facts I wanted to confirm my own theory, with you as my object of study," Sherlock looked up at John and grinned goofily, "that the colour of head and pubic hair are related. But then, the colour of  _ your _ head hair is difficult to judge because of the greying due to old age…" he smirked. This earned him a smack on the back of his head. 

"Oi, watch your mouth, you greenhorn, or your punishment will be gruesome!" John scolded.

"Oh, will it?  _ Captain? _ " Sherlock glanced at him, seductively biting his luscious lower lip.

"Yes, very!" John huffed under his breath and leaned forward to quickly free the poor punished lip by a kiss.

"However, your beard seems to be much darker than the rest of your hair." Sherlock continued after they finally managed to let go of each other, "That's why I was positive to find a connection. Interestingly, in contrast to me, your  _ pubic _ is ginger, which raises the question: what's the original colour of your head hair? Are you ginger or red-headed?” Sherlock leaned back in his chair, very pleased with himself.

John shook his head in disbelief. He chuckled.

“Isn’t that the exact same thing?” he asked.

“Not quite.” Sherlock said, not elaborating.

“And what were your findings? What am I?” John asked, his lips twitching with a suppressed grin. 

“Both.” Sherlock stated and looked at him, teasingly.

“How is that possible?” John raised his eyebrows.

“Well,” Sherlock said,“Your head hair seems to be ginger in origin as well as your pubic. But… under your covers I’ve found another, very eager if I might say so, part of your body that was very much red-headed…,” he grinned.

The tickle attack that followed ruined all of Sherlock's hard earned specimens and object slices and ended with Sherlock gathering data on how distracting bread crumbs on the kitchen counter are, when they're rubbing against your bare arse while grinding against your boyfriend.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As always, I thank my lovely betas [Jobooksandcoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jobooksandcoffee/pseuds/Jobooksandcoffee) and [littleweedwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleweedwrites/pseuds/littleweedwrites) from the bottom of my heart!! You two are my conductors of light!! I love you two like mad!! <3<3


End file.
